Hollywood's Game
by DaSparkzz
Summary: HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD FAN-FICTION - Hollywood, California has a special way of doing things. It loves, hates, gives, and  above all  takes. - LOVE STORY BETWEEN FICTIONAL CHARACTERS AND HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD MEMBERS -
1. Chapter 1  Righting Ryan's Wrong

**** Don't worry, the members of Hollywood Undead come in later****, chapter two. It's a book, although a short one, so I needed some pre-HU for some substance. I'm telling you right now, the first chapter is a true story. Well, everything except the very end, the thing about the cousin in Hollywood. (GAWD I wish that was true.) The rest is pretty much what I'dve liked to have happened. Also, I know Deuce isn't still in the band, but I feel like I can work with his personality more than Danny's in this particular Fan-Fic.**

*********NAMES****: Funnyman/Funny - Dylan; J-Dog/J - Jorel; Charlie Scene/Charles - Jordon; Deuce/Producer - Aron; Johnny 3 Tears/J3T - George; Da Kurlzz/Kurlzz - Matthew/Matt/Matty {I'll be using them throughout so watch out}**

***** Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD, OR ANY PAST OR PRESENT MEMBERS**

**CHAPTER ONE - Righting Ryan's Wrong**

Aurra stared at the broken pieces of glass scattered throughout the house. There were empty bags of chips and crumbled up beer cans strewn through the kitchen and the bulk of the backyard.

"Fuck."

The party her brother had thrown was brutal, and now he was gone, probably off with his friends getting drunk. Or… more drunk. Her stomach filled with rage, but it was normal. Ryan did things like this all the time, and she put up with it. It was a tiny house, two bedrooms, one bathroom, a tiny living room and bite-sized kitchen, but he always threw massive parties.

And always got high.

And always got drunk.

And always left her to fix it.

She walked over to the small cupboard above the sink and removed the black trashbags from within. She then commenced righting Ryan's wrong, like she did every day of her life. The whole process was getting old. Yet, she couldn't abandon Ryan. Being a 25-year-old, a year older than her, didn't help his chances. He was lazy and unqualified for all work, save maybe a trashman. Trashmen made good money too, but Aurra could never seem to get through her elder brother's thick skull.

Once the house was decently clean, she chucked the trashbag into the corner and heard it land with a satisfying smash. Normally she wouldn't let her temper get out of hand, but this was the third party this week. It was only Wendsday. Ryan was running her dry. A job as a secretary can only hold two people for so long in a city like New York. New York had always been her home. She had never thought of living somewhere else and beleived she wouldn't. Once her parents died, Aurra successfully sold their old house and put the money into savings, using her own money to buy this pitiful shack in the suburban outskirts of the city. By now, she had become acoustomed to the flimsy life she lived, but it was never enough for her. A job as a secretary was far from satisfying as far as she was concerned. Back in college, she had dreamed of becoming someone else, someone artistic. Instead, she was taking orders from a fat man in a suit and was fighting for her paycheck. She had always dreamed of being someone important, someone that people would _want_ to listen to. Had her parents not died and sent Ryan in a downward spiral, she might have done something noteworthy with her life. Every night, before she went to sleep, she would think to herself, _I'm only 24. I still have time._ But she knew that she would never have the courage to quit her job and move away, or even begin an artistic career like the one she had in mind. She also knew she didn't have the heart to abandon Ryan. In the end, she turned over in her bed and cried herself to sleep because she convinced herself so thoroughly that she could never make it and didn't even have the courage to try.

The door to the basement creaked as she opened it. She flipped the light switch to the 'on' position and watched the various colorful lights come to life. It illuminated a set of polished, black drums with two wooden drumsticks laying dormant on the seat, a cheap electric keyboard layered with buttons for 'record', 'play', 'stop', and various other sound-effects, and her pride and joy: a white electric guitar. It was shiny, she always kept it that way. It had various symbols on it, in the colors of black and purple. A pick was woven between the strings at the neck. A wide smile gradually crept across her face, like it always did down in this room. This was her room, a good room. Posters lined the walls, all sporting graphic names and images of various bands and band members. The largest and most prominent was in the back, behind the drumset. It said in clear, easily distinguishable letters, **"HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD."**This made her smile the widest. They got it, everything about her _**new life.**_They got the 'so poor you worry about your next meal' thing and the 'worry about being attacked when you round a corner' thing and, or course, the 'I just wanna speak the truth and I don't care what others think' thing. The latter was the most important of all, at least to her. Being a secretary didn't give you much speaking power or the creative freedom she so desperately craved. You just took notes. She also couldn't tell Ryan the truth about what she wanted for fear of being beaten. Or shot.

Yes, Ryan owned a gun, which is the one of the many reasons why she locked her door every night. She continued to try and take it from him, without avail. He hid it, or threatened her with it. He was never sober any more, so threatening her didn't come as a surprise anymore. She was just glad he never brought girls home with him any more.

Her life was fucked up, she knew it, and she wasn't one to deny it. Through it all, Hollywood Undead kept her grounded. They gave her that minimal hope that she needed to keep breathing and dealing with things.

A small, black table sat in the corner of the room. On it sat a stack of papers, most tucked away in separate folders. The folder on top read, "Songs," in large, curly lettering. She ran her hand over the strings of her guitar and watched the strings vibrate. The notes hit her ears and soothed her, like always, and her eyes sparkled with delight, like always. She picked up the guitar and strummed a few notes, finding herself playing the first few chords of "Sell Your Soul." The lyrics passed her lips with ease, familiar and oddly comforting despite their raw anger. She paused before the chorus, unwilling to continue further. She had other things to do, like catch up on sleep. She had been working through the night lately to cover extra bills and increased taxes, so she had missed Ryan's recent parties.

_Thankfully._

She rested the guitar gently against the wall and wove the pick back into the strings. She walked back to the door and, with a final look at the room, flicked the lights off and closed the door. She walked back up the stairs, much calmer now. She made her way to her tiny room, locked the door, and collapsed onto the bed. The moment her eyes closed, she was enveloped in sleep.

*TWO WEEKS LATER*

She flicked the TV off as Ryan tottered into the small living room with his friend, Zach.

"Ger-mournin' lil sisseh." It was 11 at night. Zach stood by idly.

"Ryan, how about you go get some sleep?"

"'Kay." He stumbled over some invisible object and gripped the wall for balance. She sighed and rose from the grimy couch, took his hand, and guided him into his bed. He wordlessly turned over and covered his head with the blanket. As I closed the door, I heard his loud snoring. Zach had made it to his room unassisted. She grew to like Zach, just for the fact that he helped her pay the bills. He had just moved in a week ago, but for the most part, things were the same. She sat back onto the couch, and the phone rang. She moaned.

"I just sat down, bitch." She stared at the phone, all of 5 feet away from her. _I'm lazy when I'm not at work, so what?_ Beaten, she stood and snatched the phone from the kitchen counter.

"Hello?"

A man was on the phone, his voice raspy. He was calling about a complaint from a neighbor about a drunken man repeatedly visiting this house. "Yes, he lives here." The voice asked if they were married. "He's my brother." He proposed rehab. It took her a moment to register what that meant for me.

No more Ryan. No more being afraid. No more paying bills I couldn't pay. Freedom.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" By the final yes she was practically screaming at the receiving end. She heard the man say something about dropping him off at an address with a concent form that could be printed at an internet address. She wrote it all down, her secretarial skills kicking in. She would have to go the library to print it out, but she didn't care. Without Ryan in the picture, it was all so much easier. Getting him to sign the paper would be a breeze with him drunk, same with dropping him off. _I'll tell him we're going to a bar or something..._The plan formulated in her head. With a few ecstatic thank-yous, the phone conversation was over. She immediately hopped into her car and drove to the library. On the drive there, she realised just how selfish she might be. She did research on the rehab facility and found it acceptable, printed out the form, and drove home in the small Honda. Once home, she set the form on top of her wooden dresser next to her double-sided knife. She looked into the mirror. Her hair was black and long, and hung over right eye. Her face and body were slender by nature, but also by the lack of food. Even in the dark, her blue eyes shone. On any other night, she would see someone she had been covering from the day her parents died, which seemed so long ago. Tonight, she saw someone worth fighting for.

She hardly slept that night. What she did to bide her time was concoct a list of things she was going to take. She was leaving. Once dawn began to peek through the solitary window above her bed, she rose and stuffed clothes into her duffle bag. Along with it came other necessities and a few worthwhile items. She stuck her knife in a side-pocket, just because she felt safer that way. She thought about sneaking into Ryan's room and looking for his gun, but she decided not to chance it. With everything packed into the single bag, she stared at it. Her life was in that bag. This depressed her beyond explanation or comprehension, but she picked it up and stuffed it into the back trunk of her Honda. She re-entered the house and flicked the light on in the basement. She lifted her guitar from its position on the wall and cradled it. She carefully wrapped it in a makeshift case and set in the trunk. Again, she entered the house and pulled a wad of cash from a locked box beneath her bed. This was the money she earned from selling her parents house. She was going to use it to start a new life. She placed the keys in her pocket and the box in the trunk. The trunk closed with a snap of finality, and she entered the house for the last time.

Careful to pass Zach's room without waking him, she shook Ryan awake.

"Whaa...?"

"Bar?" He smiled, a whiff of his morning breath escaping. "Looks like you finally get me, sis."

_I always got you, bro. Even now._She didn't verbally reply, but instead lifted him from the bed. She packed a small bag in front of him, but he was still in such a stupor he didn't register what she was doing. They made their way to the car. She liked Zach for his ability to pay a small portion of the bills, but she wasn't willing to give up a chance like this for him. He was on his own now.

Before they left, still half-drunk and in a morning stupor, Ryan signed the consent form. She placed her signature a little straighter on the line then he did. The trip to the rehabilitation center was uneventful. Their arrival was greeted by, she suspected, the same raspy-voiced man from the phone. She handed him the paper. The man smiled pleasantly and introduced himself. He then beckoned to Ryan to follow and realized his mistake. He took the 25-year-old's arm and lead him down the hallway, not before reassuring me, "We'll take care of him." _This might as well be a mental hospital,_ She thought. The last image she collected of Ryan was him waving blankly at her with his free arm. This brought a gentle smile to her face. This place would be good for him. This last reassurance to herself sent her out to door and into the airport. She knew exactly where she was headed, to the place where there were family lived that she didn't have to care for. Her cousin lived there. His continual phone contact always consisted of him bragging about being the 'leader' of the band, her favorite band. He was always saying she should visit. Yeah, she knew where she was going.

Hollywood.

*END OF CHAPTER ONE*


	2. Chapter 2 Blooming Black Dahlia

********NAMES****: Funnyman/Funny - Dylan; J-Dog/J - Jorel; Charlie Scene/Charles - Jordon; Deuce/Producer - Aron; Johnny 3 Tears/J3T - George; Da Kurlzz/Kurlzz - Matthew/Matt/Matty {I'll be using them throughout so watch out}**

***** Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD, OR ANY PAST OR PRESENT MEMBERS**

**CHAPTER TWO ****– BLOOMING BLACK DAHLIA**

She stepped out of the Taxi and grabbed her bags before it sped off to somewhere unknown. She had left her car with her good friend, along with the keys to her old house so she could retrieve her drum set and keyboard. Now, she was in Hollywood. Finally. She hadn't told her cousin she was coming, or else he would have thrown some ridiculous party and surprised her. She hated surprises. She walked up the sidewalk to his house. His wasn't much larger than hers, nor was his in any better of a neighborhood than hers, but it still looked more appealing. Maybe it was because they would be sharing the bills. Her hand hesitated over the door as she thought about what she was forcing her cousin to do, but pushed the thought aside. _Need be, I can get an apartment._She just hoped she'd be able to get a good enough deal on one nearby. Her knuckles rapped against the door.

***CHARLIE SCENE'S POV***

He was asleep on the couch, hat covering his eyes and all the blinds in the room closed. It was dark, but not dark enough not to notice it was day. His mother had been over the other day to clean, because she hated how messy he kept his place, so the main floor was relatively clean. A german shepherd sat at his feet, also asleep. The knock on the door jerked him and Shard awake. He stumbled while getting up and landed butt-first on the ground. "Ah, fuck. WHAT?" A shy, and somewhat astonished, voice came from outside the door. "Its... um, well, never mind. I'll just... " The obviously female voice trailed off. He quickly stood and flung the door open, revealing his cousin, Aurra.

"AURRA!" He grinned and clutched her in a tight embrace. "Long time no see, eh?" She giggled. "Yeah, I guess." Her voice sounded strangled. "Whoops, sorry." He set her back down and she chuckled at his expense. "I guess you're just too strong." "Damn right, I am!" She gestured to her solitary bag. "Think you could help me, strong guy?" His cocky smile vanished, but then reappeared. He hefted the bag onto his shoulder. "Somehow I knew you'd make me work for a compliment." She chuckled again and followed him through the house. He gestured to the rooms as he listed them. "Living room, kitchen, bathroom, my room," Then he turned a knob and opened another door. "Your room." She looked pleased. "Big enough for you?" "Definitely. Bigger than my old one back home." He turned to her after setting her bag on the bed. "Old one?" Her face looked panicked. He looked down at her bag. "And that's all you have?" She relaxed. "S'all I got." His eyebrows furrowed, and he sensed her need for comforting. He pulled her in for a hug, a much softer one.

"It all works out." As he pulled away, he saw her eyes were moist with the beginnings of tears. "I know. It has to."

Uncomfortable on such a serious topic, he smiled. "Let's get you unpacked."

The next fifteen minutes were spent sorting her things into the spare dresser in the room. When he came across the front pocket, he pulled out a polished, double-sided knife. "Oh?" She looked up from her clothes and noticed what was in my hand. "Shit. You found it." He twirled it around in his hand and marveled at the balancing and sharpness. "Yeah, I found it. Didn't know you had it in you." "Well," began her explanation, "New York's a dangerous place. So is L.A. for that matter." He smirked. "You won't need it with me around." She burst out laughing, and he froze, dumbfounded. "Is it really so funny that I could protect you?" She continued laughing for another minute before answering. "No, that's not whats funny." A peculiar expression crossed her face. "I guess what's funny is that you think you could beat up anyone who challenges you." He snorted. "I can!" She snorted. "You can't beat me up." "Ye-, " he started. "Not without a knife."

He faltered. "Wanna test that theory?" He slipped the knife onto the dresser top. She chuckled and replied, "It aint no theory." He shot her his black grin, which she returned. Her threw a punch, not as hard as he could, aiming for her right shoulder. She blocked with one hand, gripped his fist, and twisted his arm. He looked down at his immobile arm and unbalanced body, then at her ready fist. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" She let him go, and her chuckle echoed through his house again, _their_ house again.

"I guess so."

*THE NEXT DAY*

Aron passed him, handing him a beer as he walked by.

"C'mon, spill." Matt called from a chair in the corner. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." George laughed beside him. Aron sat beside Dylan and Jorel was leaning against the far wall."We know some chick was in here yesterday, we saw her get outta the taxi." He repeated Da Kurlzz's comment, "C'mon, spill." He looked around the room. George, Matt, Aron, Dylan, and Jorel looked at him exspectantly. "Fine. She's my cousin, ok?" They all blinked in surprise. "Thought the only family you had left was your mama," Jorel said incredulously. Jordon's anger spiked. "Well she's not." Eyebrow raised, Matthew asked, "Why you didn't wanna tell us?" His anger spiked again. "'Cuz. She my fucking cousin, man." The room was still. Carefully, George said, "We get you care for her." He softened a little. "It's not just that... she's been through some rough times back in NYC and... I don't know. I guess she deserves better than that." Dylan laughed, and all heads turn his way. "So, apparently, we're rough times." Charlie Scene shrugged. Jorel nods once, "I'd say that's right." Funnyman laughs again. "Maybe y'all are, but me..." His eyes sparkle playfully.

"Still trouble."

Aron finishes his sentence for him, and everyone laughs. The mood gradually gets lighter until Jorel poses the question, "That mean she's off-limits?" Charlie thinks for a second, and replies simply, "Depends." "On?" Aron inserts his own question. "If you intend to fuck her up." Always dependable, Dylan lightens the mood by saying, "Not fuck her _up_." After another round of laughs, George adds cheerily, "Then it's settled. War for the fair lady's affections!" "HUZZAH!" Aron's drunken call comes, and is joined by everyone but Jordon. Still, Jordon smiles at the entertainment and decides these guys are okay. He tips the foaming beer down his throat and watches his band. Hollywood Undead, indeed.

***J-DOG'S POV***

His skateboard screeched as he tilted backward, stopping altogether, at the edge of the half-pipe. He looked down into the huge drop at the other skateboarders below. He waited until there was a gap, and dropped in. The wind rushed past his face as he plummeted 5 feet and landed successfully, making his way along the half-pipe. He gripped the edge of the wall as he sailed upward and turned in midair, again successfully landing 5 feet below. He continued this until the half-pipe was so full that he exited. He sat at a creaky, wooden bench nearby, like he always did. By now, people around here knew this was _his_ bench and what the consequences were if they took it. He balanced the board on his knees and sipped from a water bottle he placed in the bench's minimal shade. Stuff was normal.

Some strange girl walked in,sporting a worn skateboard. He immediately noticed her because of the camouflage cap she was wearing, similar to his own. She dropped the skateboard while walking and, still in stride, took on the longest grind rail with a twist at the end. She then cleared two jumps and leaned back and swerved to a stop. He saw he wasn't the only one watching. A regular named Ricky was watching her as well. Seeing their mutual interest, he strode over.

"You know her?" He asked. "No. Hasn't been here before." Ricky nods. "New girl can skate." He nods, too. Ricky looks at him out of the corner of his eye. "Dibs." He laughs. "All's fair in love and war, or whatever." In response, Ricky glides over to the new girl. She looks up from tightening something on her wheels with an indifferent expression. He could tell Ricky was attempting suave and alluring, but based on the girl's expression, he was failing miserably. In the end, new-girl turned and skated away while the regular was in mid-sentence. Jorel smirked as Ricky returned, defeated.

He said simply, "Uninterested." J-Dog stated, "Watch and learn."

He dropped into the half-pipe, launched himself high into the air, and landed not a foot from her. She didn't scream like most other girls would, but she seemed taken aback. "Hey, I'm Jorel." She hesitated for a second, but answered him with a gentle smile. "You should watch where you're going, Jorel. I'm Aurra." The name took him by surprise. _Shit, it's Jordon's cousin..._"Yeah sorry 'bout that." He answered reflexively. "So, you're Jordon's cousin?" She set her skateboard tip-down and leaned on it. "Yep. I'm guessing you know him." He laughed. "Yeah, you could say that." There was a lull in the conversation, until she spotted the largest half-pipe and smiled. He saw her interest, returned her smile, and answered, "Think you could do it?" She looked at him for a second, then back at the ramp. Her smile grew wider. "No doubt." "Think you could do it better than me?" She beamed at him and repeated, "No doubt."

They took their places at the top of the ramp, one on each side. He was grateful nobody but him, and now her, dared to challenge it. They glanced up at each other, waiting for the other to start. Without warning, she dropped in, gripped her skateboard, and held herself up on the side for a good 3 seconds. Realizing he had been watching and not skating, he cursed to himself and dropped in. He mimicked her previous move and then shot himself as high as he could above the bar while spinning in midair. The move was risky and he landed shakily, but he stayed on his board. He briefly spotted her in mid-360 before he launched off the wall again. Eventually, they wore themselves out and sat panting on the same side of the half-pipe. Jorel lay down, his legs dangling over the edge and his chest heaving. He heard her faintly call out beside him, "Tie." All he could summon as an answer was, "Yah. Tie." They lay there for a couple minutes before Aurra stood and grabbed her board, He sat up, and called as she went, "Where you goin'?" "Jordon's. I gotta shower." He nodded. "See you there then." She laughed, and then was gone. Nobody had been able to tie him in a while, certainly not anybody in Los Angeles. This girl was a refreshing change of pace, but he realized that he liked her more than that. He found himself eagerly awaiting Jordon's house, and regretting it. Last time he was obsessed with the thought of some he barely knew, it turned into Black Dahlia. He didn't want this girl to turn into another Hollywood Undead heartbreak hit.

Resolved to get to know her better before attempting much, he picked up his board and headed for his bench. After retrieving his water bottle, he glided out the unhinged gate toward home.

*LATER THAT NIGHT*

As he walked up Charlie's sidewalk, he heard yelling from inside. "Jordon, you don't have _shit_ to eat in here!" Jordon's reply was equally loud. "I _have_ shit, but it's shit!" He turned the knob and let himself in. He found Charlie lounging on the couch in the living room, remote in hand. Charlie turned to him. "Knock much?" With all seriousness, he replied, "Since when have I had to knock?" Jordon shot him a short smile, shrugged, and contined flipping through the channels. Aurra revealed herself carrying a microwave meal. "You call this food?" Jordon glanced at her breifly. "Yes, yes I do." She spotted Jorel and flashed him a smile. "Hey! Jorel, right?" Charlie looked up, disturbed, and looked at the both of them. He looked at Jorel while saying, "You met?" "Skatepark," He replied simply. He shot some look at J-Dog, that he interpreted as some sort of warning, but he didn't reply.

"Can I borrow your car, Charles?" That was the first time he heard her call Jordon by his band name. "Why?" "Well I wanted to get some _real_ food for dinner." Jordon didn't look at her, still focused on the television. "And how do you intend to find the grocery store?" Aurra looked at Jorel exspectantly. "I'll take her." Jordon paused in his search. "Fine." He threw another warning glance at him and then Aurra took his wrist after plucking the keys from the couch arm. Charlie called from the couch, "Be back by 6!" Aurra replied with a sarcastic smile, "Yes, father dear."

At exactly 5:59, Jorel and Aurra walked in the door with bags of food in hand. They clanked onto the counter and Jorel began to put things away. "I'll grab the beer." At the mentioning of beer, Dylan lifted his head from his seat in a chair and looked at her. Noticing, she smirked and said, "Once I get it inside." Satisfied, he laid his head back down again. Once the beer was in the doorway, Dylan hopped up and yanked one from its holder. "Jeezuz, you guys don't mess around." "Not with our beer." Dylan winked, and something inside Jorel spat jealousy, which really didn't help his situation. "Right, well, good luck with that." His jealousy vanished. This chick was hardcore. He laughed, along with Jordon, at Funny's exspense. Dylan opened his mouth to retaliate, but Aurra looked at him exspectanly, so he seemed to opt not to. She set the beer down on the counter and got out a pack or two of raw meat. Jorel quirked an eyebrow.

"And what do you intend to do with that?" She looked at him, then returned to the meat, smashing it and forming it into semi-flat circles. "Hamburgers." You could hear Matt from another room call, "YES!" She giggled. Jordon said from his seat on the couch, "I'm glad you know how to cook, none of us do." Dylan snorted. "I do." Jorel added, "I do." Jordon looked at the both of them with scrutiny. "Ha! Really?" They both nodded. "Mac an' Cheese, brah." Dylan chuckled at him. Jordon kicked Dylan as he walked by and looked at Jorel. "Lemme guess... cereal?" Everyone burst out laughing, including Jorel. "Yeah but I can grill, too." Aurra smirked. "Care to help me then?" He hesitated. "I mean, I wouldn't want to get in the way..." She smiled gently at him. "Just come on." They both went to the backyard, Jorel with beer in hand, and started up the grill.

She set the burgers on the table next to the opened bowl of hamburger buns and ran to go get some tongs to put the burgers on the buns. He watched her run through the door, and sat hurriedly at the table. He grabbed a burger, stuffed in a bun, and stuffed it in his mouth. Matt and Dylan ran out and did the same. With so many guys living so close, you had to eat fast to eat at all. When she returned she found the three of them digging into their third burger. For a moment, she stood dumbstruck in the door way. The next second, she called inside the house, "Jordon!" He stood and looked outside as she nodded that way with her head. He saw the three of them with burgers stuffed in their mouths.

"Guys..." He started. "FUCKIN' SAVE SOME FOR ME!" He launched over to the table and grabbed to two burgers. Aurra facepalmed. He would have laughed had his mouth not been full of food. After Charlie Scene had sat himself down, a burger in his mouth and two in his hands, she strode over, plucked a burger from the insanity, and ate it with dignity. He secretly admired her and thought different of her for it, because she was different. Maybe he'd gotten used to the chicks from L.A. or something... Yeah that had to be it.

When the burger bowl was painfully empty, Dylan glanced down into the empty bowl, his empty plate, then up at Aurra.

"Dessert?"

Aurra gave him a gentle smile. "For you, Funnyman." She launched up out of her seat and made her way into the kitchen. Dylan leaned over the table and said to everyone, "You're welcome." We all gave him a death look, except Charlie, who looked kinda sick. "Charlie..." Jorel started. "Yeah. Imma puke..." He walked leisurely into his bathroom and Matt and Dylan looked at Jorel.

"Beer or burgers?" They could hear him puking. The three of them agreed in unison, "Both."

Aurra came out a moment later, carrying a plate of tiny cakes, confused. "Which got to him first?" They all laughed and repeated, "Both." She smiled, but stopped a second later, probably feeling guilty. "S'not your fault," Dylan said. "Well if she didn't make such delicious burgers..." Jorel smiled. She blushed, and he was satisfied. The moment the bite-sized cakes touched the table, half were gone. She looked at Funnyman in dissent. "You'll need to borrow Charlie's sink." Dylan gave her a cheeky smile, his mouth stuffed full of food. She smiled, on the brink of laughing. "You gunna have one?" Jordon asked as he returned. "No, I'm too..." she looked down at her acceptably skinny waist. Jordon gave her a disbelieving look. "You're fine, hun." She still turned away from the cakes. Jorel scowled.

"You're fucking beautiful. Now eat a cake." She looked taken aback, hesitated a moment, and lifted the last cake from the plate.

After everyone had finished their large meal, Aurra asked Funnyman, "_Now_ are you full?" He leaned back and patted his full stomach with content. "You could say that!" The table laughed willingly, bellies full. After a few more good-natured jokes, they went their separate ways. All but Aurra and Jorel re-entered the house. Jorel offered to help clean up. After a glance up at him, she refused, saying he'd helped enough. "You sure?" She nodded, and he obeyed.

While entering the house, he heard Aron's arrival.

"Producer in the his _and her's_ house!"

He rolled his eyes at his old friend's predictable behavior. "She here?" Jordon seemed just as P.. "Yeah, but tread lightly there, ole buddy." Deuce smirked. "Aint gunna be nutin' light 'bout it." The urge to roll his eyes hit him again, but he resisted. Deuce, as old of a friend as he was, really hit his nerves sometimes. More often lately, for some reason. Aron ran upstairs in search of the mystery lady because of his friends apparent incapability to tell him where she was. Once he was out of sight, coincidentally, she came in through the back door carrying the dishes. He then picked up some of Dylan and Jordon's conversation.

"...party at Liann's. She got a pool, according to the dickhead that fucking ran into me." Dylan laughed one of his trademarked 'Mexican Chuckles'. "Liann pick up a new boy-toy?" They both laughed. "He'll be all used up by next Tuesday." Jorel joined in. "You guys goin'?" They looked over at him. Dylan put on a smug grin. "I won't be. Lacy's finally taking me up on my offer." Dylan's long time crush, Lacy, who had rejected him countless times to be on any outing worth calling a 'date' with him, had finally excepted. Jorel suspected that Lacy had just wanted to get the train-wreck out of the way. For Funnyman's sake, he didn't voice his suspicions. "Good for you, bro." Charlie's reply was more indifferent. "Dunno. Depends if its B.Y.O.B." That went for him, too. The only person he was willing to share his booze with was a plastic cup with the name, "JOREL," on it. He looked around the room to find Da Kurlzz nowhere in sight and Aron returning from upstairs. Matty wouldn't come anyway. He had his cute little pussycat doll to woo.

Deuce asked with plenty interest, "Your cousin comin'?" Charlie looked on the verge of dis-allowing it until Aurra walked out of the kitchen with a towel, drying her hands. "Party? It B.Y.O.B?" He smiled and looked at Charles. "I can see the resemblance." Ignoring his comment, he shrugged at Aurra and added, "She's got a pool." She wide grin spread across her face. "Fuck B.Y.O.B., I'm in." Immediately, Aron volunteered his own attendance, to which Charlie immediately followed. "Alright, I'll be coming too, then." Aurra returned to her dishes and Jordon shot him a curious look. He replied with a slight smile, "Wouldn't wanna miss you being on Aron's case all night. 'Cuz you know he's," He jerked his head in Deuce's direction, "gunna be all over her." Charlie Scene glared at Deuce, who didn't shy away and actually replied, "You can bet on it."

Suddenly being present at the party seemed 100% more important.

And he didn't like his dependence on someone else's presence in his own life.

*EVEN LATER THAT NIGHT*

His skateboard skidded to a stop in front of Liann's house. As far as houses in L.A. were, it was on the upside. Liann had some money, which is why her bed was occupied most nights. Her current occupant stood at her side in the front yard. Liann and her toy stood in conversation with a few tall, unmentionably skinny girls. The girls wore heels, short jean shorts, and swimsuit tops. Normally, they were his type. Not tonight, as painful as it was. He arrived with a mission. He was going to get Aurra before Aron could.

*END OF CHAPTER TWO*


	3. Chapter 3 Thinking and Not

***** ****NAMES****: Funnyman/Funny - Dylan; J-Dog/J - Jorel; Charlie Scene/Charles - Jordon; Deuce/Producer - Aron; Johnny 3 Tears/J3T - George; Da Kurlzz/Kurlzz - Matthew/Matt/Matty {I'll be using them throughout so watch out}**

***** Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD, OR ANY PAST OR PRESENT MEMBERS**

**CHAPTER 3 – Thinking and Not**

Liann never advertised a single party, but people seemed to show up anyway. Parties thrown by anyone who was anyone always reached somebody who knew somebody else, so word just traveled that way. Los Angeles was that kind of place.

This particular party had a gigantic turnout. The space around the pool was swarming with gyrating bodies, and several had fallen into the pool. He saw a college-age looking kid walking past him and grabbed two unopened beer cans from his hands. The kid turned to tell him off, until he actually saw him. Thinking better of it, he closed his mouth and continued walking. The kid's remaining ounce of pride vanished after running straight into Jordon. He mumbled something unintelligeable as Charlie shoved him aside in pursuit of Deuce, who had already began his hunt. Aron already looked as if he had consumed several beers already, and quite possibly a clove or two by the way his eyes drooped. He was laid-back, and his smile was numb. It held no sign of happiness or enjoyment, maybe ignorance. His eyes had a glazed-over look. He couldn't hear Aron and Jordon's conversation, but The Producer retained the joyless smile throughout.

He was satisfied. Aron's haze would keep him preocupied. If not, then Charlie would. If not, he would, **personally**, align his knuckles with Aron's nose and send him on his way. He found himself wondering what would happen if he pushed him in the pool. The cold of the beer in his hands brought him back to himself and he wrenched the cap off of the top of the beer in his left hand. He let the cold liquid run down his throat and fog his mind, but he leapt once he spotted Aurra talking with Liann.

He elbowed his way through the crowed and threw a quick smile at Liann. It was always a good idea to keep her happy. He then turned and smiled at Aurra and handed her one of the beers he had scavaged. Her face brightened. "Never had beer?" She shook her head. "Not often. Ryan drank it all." He had a moment of confusion. "Ryan?" _If this is her addict ex..._ "My brother." He was relieved, for some reason. His second reaction was worry. George was a bit of an addict himself, so he handled him on a daily basis. More so recently, now that he spent every night on his couch. The thought of Aurra facing her drunken brother alone frightened him. Odds are he had friends. His worry increased. "Wouldn't he be too scary for you?" He smiled, but was entirely serious inside. She laughed humorlessly. "You haven't seen scary until you saw him and his friends with a gun." He got the friends part right, but throw a gun into the situation and there was something he never wanted to come across. Ever. His expression obviously showed surprise, and worry. "It's alright. Nothing happened..." She trailed off. He wasn't entirely convinced, but pursing the subject was futile. "This is good. I'm getting to know you more." She looked up at him. "But I don't know much of you." He smiled and explained to her about his life.

He had no siblings. His parents were still alive, but they had no desire to see him anymore. And he was fine with that. He lived alone, with George. These parties were sort of a hobby for the members of this band that he started, Hollywood Undead. Surprisingly, she seemed familiar with the name and music, which pleased him. He didn't have many interests that he usually shared with his lady friends, save for skateboarding and drinking. She obviously understood the skateboarding interest and, as the night wore on, saw her interest in drinking, too. The band kept up a steady trickle of money, but it wasn't enough yet to start living a large lifestyle that he had wanted. She wasn't of the same mindset.

He had learned that her parents had died in a shooting in New York. Her mother had been a doctor and her father an up-and-coming lawyer. Their lifestyle was pretty large until they didn't have parents to support them anymore. She said, "I find a kind of... peace in living with only a five-dollar bill to your name. I can't really explain it." She stated that 'living large' was never her long-term goal after that.

He sat back. They had found chairs in the corner of Liann's back porch. The railing was wrapped in twinkling lights. She sat in a chair across from him. "So you know Hollywood Undead?" She stopped in mid-swig and lowered the metal can from her mouth. "Yeah. I've been a fan for a while." "How long?" "Found you guys on Myspace one-er-two years ago." A smug smile spread across his face, and he scooted closer. "Who's your favorite?" The question must have caught her off-guard because she froze in thought for a second. She smiled, finished off the beer, and stood. "I need something to chase this down with... you want anything?" "But... you were about to tell me..." She continued to look at him expectantly. This was as far as he was getting tonight, apparently. Resigned, he said, "Anything." She returned holding a large cup of Henny. He accepted it gratefully and look a deep swig. And then another. Three more followed.

He blacked out.

He collected a variety of random memories and images from the party. He saw Aurra, her smile and her eyes. He had a war with himself over which was more beautiful. He felt want, too much of it. He felt rage. Some fuck-tard was talking with her, kissing her. He felt pain, and he saw red. And that was it.

Next thing he knew, he was laying in some bed. The room was small, and the walls and dresser were bare. With effort, he lifted his head. The world spun. His bare feet touched the ground and he stumbled to the window. It was bright outside, maybe 6 or 7 o'clock in the morning. He was looking at Charlie's front yard.

It took him a while to figure things out. _Jordon has two bedrooms. One is taken by him. The other by Aurra. This isn't Jordon's room. I'm in Aurra's room. _He felt a mix of emotions. First, elation, then panic, then smugness. "Ha! Take _that_, Aron!" He immediately regretted speaking so loudly by the clang of pain that hit his head and his jaw. His jaw? He sped to the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and found a baseball-sized bruise and long cut on the left side of his jaw. "What?" He saw Jordon pass the bathroom from the mirror. Jordon came back and exsplained, "Ask Aurra." He protested, "Why can't...?" He just shook his head and continued down the hall. Something about facing Aurra seemed abhorrent to him at the moment. He felt like something happened last night.

_I did wake up in her bed... _The thought pleased him, but he knew it wouldn't please Charlie Scene. If _anything happened. _It wouldn't be the first time he'd woken up in some stranger's bed, or vice-versa. Still, he doubted anything worthwhile happened. He still hoped. Suddenly, he was worrying about where Aurra was. He never knew what happened to Deuce... After he blacked out, maybe... _Fuck._

With an obvious panic, he called to Jordon, "Where's Aurra?" With half a disapproving look, he responded, "Not sure." Panic ensued. "Didja see her come home last night?" He shrugged. "_I_ don't remember getting home, dipshit." His hangover was forgotten. "Didja see Deuce leave?" Charlie smiled evilly as he understood what his panic attack was about. "Nope." Pushing him away, and commenting, "Fuck you, Charlie Scene," he made for the door. His skateboard was propped up against the porch wall, which he grabbed and flung at the ground. He began thinking about how long it would take him to make it to Deuce's house on a fucking skateboard when he saw someone jogging on the other side of the street. Sports bra, tight shorts, and headphones, it was Aurra. He was so relieved he couldn't stand it. Between his relief and her half-nakedness, he was so distracted that he ran into the only rock on the street and launched himself off the skateboard and into the air. He landed butt first.

"FUCK!" A pair of crackheads chuckled from the yard just to the left of him. He offered them his middle finger, commenting, "Shove it." When he looked around for his skateboard, he saw a pair of smooth, slim legs. He looked up until he found her face.

"How's the weather down there?" He sighed and chuckled simultaneously. "It sucks." She flashed him a smile and reached her hand down to him. He attempted regaining his feet first, butt fell back onto his ass. Reduced to such drastic measures, he took her hand and had her heave him up. "Your ass OK?" He looked behind him. "Hurts like fuck. I'll be fine." She bent over, breifly exposing her midriff, and picked up his skateboard. "Where were you heading to?" He hurried to make up an excuse. "Uhm... Deuce. Make sure he's... okay and stuff." It was partly true. "He's a big boy." He sighed. "Trust me, I know." She gave him a wierd look, somewhere to between confusion, curiousness, and the 'Do I want to know?' But he didn't exsplain himself.

"I should get home." She nodded and began walking in the direction of Charlie's. "No, his place's too far away." "Then where...?" "Mine." She looked surprised, but obliged. He half-limped between the two nearest houses. With her help, he jumped the fence and opened the gate from the other side only to find that she had already jumped over and was waiting for him. He mumbled something incoherant to the both of them and walked straight through 3 other backyards. A large rotweiler was in the backyard of one of them, but didn't challenge him because he was so familiar. They reached the arrangement of apartments.

After an awkward struggle up the stairs, he removed the key from his pocket and swung the door open. His furniture was worn from use, but to him it made everything comfortable. The couch was sunk in, but the cushions were comfortable. Two identical chairs, of equal stature to the couch, were on both sides of the beaten thing. There was a coffee table in front of the couch and between the two chairs. A floor lamp was plugged into the wall in the corner. In the opposite corner was a trashcan. The small, open kitchen was opposite his livingroom. A short hallway lead to his bedroom and the full bathroom. The walls in his room were matted with posters, signed and unsigned, of bands and musicians. His poster of Megan Fox had long since been covered. Yeah, it wasn't much, but it was home. He cursed himself for not thinking to clean, but there wasn't much could do about it now. The trashcan in the corner was overflowing with beer cans, many scattered near it from Matt's famous horrible shots. Open bags of food were on the coffee table inlaid with the rings from thousands of cups on its surface. His miniature kitchen was in worse shape, decorated with logos from friends companies, pictures of the days pre-HU and long-overdue bills. He might have recalled displaying a document authorizing his arrest, but it might take awhile to locate it. At least he kept his bedroom free of food, but he was almost positive that the floor would be covered in his clothes.

From the corner of his eye, he caught her slight smile. He was as confused as he was delighted. _How could she like a place like this? _He lowered himself onto one of the chairs carefully. "I'm not sure how you're supposed to treat something like that." He gave her a painful smile. "Yeah... s'not like I can put it in a cast or something." She smiled in amusement, but didn't laugh. "You might've just bruised it." He facepalmed. "Ugh... what are the guys gunna think about that?" He imitated Charlie's voice, "'Yeah, Jorel bruised his ass.'" He successfully received a laugh. "I won't tell him." He winced as he repositioned himself. "Gee, thanks, but we have a band thing tommorow." "Say you're sick." He thought about it, and attempted one of Jordon's black smiles. "Would you take care of me?" Her own black smile made his own pale in comparison. "Yeah. I need a day from Charles." He accepted her excuse, not because he beleived it. She promised to return tommorow and left for Jordon's. He wore a victory smirk.

"Stage one, complete. Ow." He pulled a fork from the chair cushion. _Shit... _He had to clean this place before tommorow. He groaned at the prospect, but looked forward to the goal.

*END OF CHAPTER THREE*


	4. Chapter 4 Love and War

***** ****NAMES****: ****Funnyman/Funny****-****Dylan; ****J-Dog/J****-****Jorel; ****Charlie****Scene/Charles****-****Jordon; ****Deuce/Producer****-****Aron; ****Johnny****3****Tears/J3T****-****George/Johnathan/Georgie; ****Da****Kurlzz/Kurlzz****-****Matthew/Matt/Matty****{I'll ****be ****using ****them ****throughout ****so ****watch****out}**

*********Disclaimer: ****I ****DO ****NOT ****OWN ****HOLLYWOOD****UNDEAD, ****OR ****ANY ****PAST ****OR ****PRESENT ****MEMBERS. MEMBERS' PERSONALITIES ARE BASED ON IMPRESSIONS. ****ALL ****LOCATIONS ****MENTIONED ****IN ****THE ****FORTH COMING ****STORY ****ARE ****FICTIONAL.****THEY ****WERE ****CREATED ****IN ****THE ****MIND ****OF ****THE ****CREATOR; ****ME.**

*********Author****Notes:****Got****some****fun****stuff****for****ya! ****^_^ ****The ****bold ****and centered ****text ****is ****the ****character****'****s ****words ****from ****a ****journal/diary/blog/etc. ****on ****that ****day. ****Some ****stuff ****may ****seem ****unrelated, ****but I ****haven****'****t ****decided ****if ****it ****will ****be ****or ****won****'****t ****be. ****Enjoy! ****Also, ****_please, _********_review_****!****I'd ****like ****to ****know ****how ****I'm ****doing!**

**CHAPTER 4 – Love and War**

*AURRA'S POV*

She thrust open the door to her cousin's house and threw the spare keys in the withering, lone shrub on the open concrete porch. The door closed with a click. Like always, the blinds were closed and the room was dark. He could hear someone sleeping on the couch. Odds are it was Charlie, but Johnny had been sleeping there lately. Explanations had been vague, but she was almost positive it had something to do with his parents. She clutched her phone and loose change she had put in her pocket and walked on the tip of her toes to minimize noise. Making every attempt to stay quiet, she carefully avoided the spots on the floor that she knew creaked. She tapped lightly on the door to Jordon's room. She heard hurried movement inside and projectiles flying across the room into the closet or dresser. He opened the door a crack and saw it was her, then let her in.

She smelt something weird. She couldn't name the smell, but she knew she smelt it before, probably back in NYC.

"What's crackalakin'?" She gave him a weird look, half amusement and half 'You're an idiot.'

"Jorel's sick. He can't make it to the band thing."

"Practice?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Sick with what?"

"I dunno. Sick. Fever, cough, and other shit."

"That's all?"

"Do you _want_ the rest of the band to get sick?"

"No..."

"Good. I'll be taking care of him."

"Won't _you_ get sick?"

"Would _you_ rather be sick?"

He hesitated. "Fair point. I still don't think it's a good idea."

"Well too fucking bad."

She turned to head out the door, deeming the sad excuse for a conversation over, when he grabbed her wrist.

"Wait..." She looked at him. "Just... be careful 'n stuff." An assuring smile overtook her. "I will."

"Oh, and Aurra..."

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about being quiet. A fucking foghorn couldn't wake Jonathan up."

***Charlie ****Scene's ****POV***

The door clicked closed and he could hear Aurra's footsteps down the hallway.

Fuck.

This was not good. Not at all.

Jorel Decker _**was **__**not**_ the most romantic person he ever knew. He'd hardly even call him dateable. His problem was that 'dating' was never what his old buddy Jorel had in mind. He knew all of his friends too well, and they were all alike in that sense.

Except Matt. But he didn't count for much.

Normally, he didn't give a fuck about what girl(s) J-Dog was screwing over this week, but this was different. Aurra was different. She was his cousin, and he really, actually loved her. As far as family went, she was as close as they came. Right now, he was the only family she had. What kind of family would he be if he let her do this? And out of all his friends, she chose Jorel? Seriously? Whoever is fucking planning this 'fate' thing has really got it out for his family. Jorel was one of his closest friends, but not someone you would want going out with someone you cared about. He just wasn't that kind of person. For that matter, he may have been the worst in his group as far as fucking girls up went. And fucking himself up. Everybody that meant something to him had fucked themselves up at least once in their life. For Jorel, it was like a habit. Jordon Terrell had been there from the beginning, and had seen everything. Which really didn't help his whole revulsion of the whole situation. Bottom line, he was not gunna sit idly by and let Jorel screw this one up.

Not Aurra. Not now, not ever.

He kicked his dresser, and it shook. His foot was numb anyway. He flipped open his phone and dialed Dylan's number first.

"Hey. Practice's cancelled. Jorel's AWOL, and I'm out." He heard some Spanish mumbling in the background and thought in the back of his mind, _You'd __think __I'd __understand __every __other __word __by __now..._ Triumphantly, he picked out the word, "Bueno," and pressed 'End.' Calls to Aron and Matty followed, near identical but absent the freak Mexican language. His phone snapped closed and was pushed deep into his back pocket. Aron had been asking about Aurra. If he had his way, none of his friends would take shots at his cousin.

_I __know __too __much. __Hah. __Never __thought __I'd __think __that..._

She stuffed his car keys into his pants and strode into the dark living room. He shook George awake and yanked the flimsy blanket off of him. He was so grateful J3T was wearing pants.

"Wuh?" "Practice's cancelled." His curiosity was obviously minimal when newly awakened. "'Kay." He rolled over and curled up into a pitiful ball. He threw the blanket back onto the little whelp and closed the front door with a snap on his way out. The Fiesta's worn seat was familiar and somewhat comforting. The engine sputtered to life, _Third __time's __the __charm!_ He made his way steadily to the apartment complex Jorel lived in and parked next to his car. Official results of the ratty car contest: tie. His fist hammered on the door. The numbers were 502, but the golden letters had fallen off or been stolen long ago. Only the shadow of numbers remained, in the chipped paint of the door. His voice came from somewhere in the apartment. "Fuck it. What?" "It's me, dipshit. Lemme in." "No. I'm sick." At least he could remember his excuse. "Bullshit." "Whatever, you aint comin' in." "Fine. Listen up, then. If you dare hurt Aurra, you a-" "Hold the lecture. I know what I'm doing." He wanted to break down the fucking door. If only it wasn't legit metal... "No, yuh don't. Never do, Jorel, and I'm not gunna let you fucking mess with my family." J-Dog was always dependable for a swift, thoughtless answer. "Yeah. Cuz that's what I've been after all along. Mind your own fucking business Jordon." Muscles in his neck were bulging. "Aurra. Is. My. Business." He heard a thump. Jorel probably kicked the door. "She's not a kid, Jordon. You can't make her decisions for her just cuz you think you know what she wants." "She knows what she wants, I know what she wants, but what she wants is you. And you aren't good for her, or anyone. For the last time, don't fuck with her!" It took a minute for a reply to come. He half suspected Jorel left the door. When he replied, his voice was weak.

"I know."

His resolve stayed strong. Feeling sorry for himself didn't help anything. "Fuck with her, you fuck with me."

"I know."

A door opened from the apartment next-door and a head popped out, soon followed by a stick-like body. "Wrap it up, fellas. I got the pigs on speed-dial." The middle finger shot up, and Jorel called from behind the door, "He was just leaving, Swanson." "If you say so, Decker." Normally, he didn't leave when another told him too, but he had compiled too many warrants recently. Another run-in with cops wasn't welcome. He turned and returned his Fiesta. The drive home was pure habit, and his mind was foggy. Somehow, the situation seemed no better to him. His favorite country song came on the spotty country channel and he turned up the volume knob. By the time he returned home, he was at a loss for what to do next. The country channel hadn't lightened his mood by much.

Maybe he could fuck with George... His key fumbled in the lock and he had to actually concentrate to turn the aged mechanism and open the door. No surprise, George was still asleep on the couch. The little faggot was still in his little ball and the blanket hadn't been adjusted whatsoever. He grabbed a pad of paper from the counter in the kitchen and scribbled a note on it.

_Someone __called. __Something __about __a __package __being __intercepted..._

He stuck it on the wobbly coffee-table, the first thing ole Georgie saw when he woke up. At least he wasn't doing the lame shaving cream thing. Aurra came around the corner, holding a plethora of medicine bottles.

"Fuck, Charlie, you gotta lotta meds..." His cocky smile returned. "I'm a collector." She didn't respond, but he could have sworn he spotted the trace of a smile on her face. "You know what's best for a fever?" He sighed. "Alright, the jig is up. I know Jorel isn't actually sick." Her face appeared to be generally confused. "I don't know what you're talking about..." "Seriously. I drove over and talked to him through his door. And lemme tell you, he dint sound too sickly to me." Her arms tensed and her face hardened. "Why'd you drive over there?" "I wanted to check on him." She laughed in disbelief. "Bullshit! Jordon, you _can't_ live my life for me." "And you can't live your life in ignorance!"

"Ignorance of what?"

"Jorel!"

Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's... bad news, Aurra. Let's leave it at that."

"You're bad news. I still live with you."

"We're family. And you kinda don't have a choice. You have a choice with Jorel. Please, just... don't."

She flung the bottles onto a vacant chair and hugged him around his waist. She could hear her murmur, "If only I was taller..." He smiled and wrapped his arms around her. "Is that a yes?" "No." His grip lessened. "But I appreciate your concern." He sighed. "I hate rejection." She laughed and unwrapped herself from him. "Sorry. Tried to let you down easy." She managed to wrench another smile from him. "Why...?" "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't try." He looked at her, and saw how genuinely confident she was. He hated himself. She was wrong, but he hated himself. He tried his best to smile with his mouth and eyes. "Go get 'im, tiger."

***J-Dog's POV***

He tipped the remains of the foamy liquid down his throat and felt something burn.

"What the fuck is that?"

Maye smiled her quirky smile. "Dunno. Got it off some guy at the gas station down the street." "God Jesus it tastes fuckin' weird…" He looked down the spout of the pitcher with one eye and watched the golden drink slosh. Maye's smile returned and she plucked the bottle from his grasp and tucked it away inside her worn satchel. "Got me pretty foggy pretty quick, so I'll be keepin' it." He nodded. He probably would've done the same thing, seeing as the motherfucker only sold the thing for a buck. Had he come to Johnny first he could've made at least twelve. "Thanks for helpin', Maye. I never'd have been able to clean this place up alone.

"Nah problemo, chico." She spoke Spanish every so often. Sometimes he found it annoying, but it's what made her interesting. Dylan loved it. She wasn't Mexican or fluent, though. She just spoke it enough to make people think differently of her.

Maye turned his doorknob and half exited, popping her head back in to add, "I hope this girl is worth it, or I'dve just wasted another 4 hours of my life." "What else would you'dve been doing?" She opened her mouth, paused in thought, and exclaimed, "Dammit. I hate when you're right." His smile was overly triumphant. "You must HATE me by now, then." Her death stare would have been convincing had he not known her better. She began to exit, Jorel calling, "Thanks!" Her reply was, "Humbug!" And the door slammed shut.

Alone again, he turned and saw his relatively clean apartment. He couldn't bring himself to change the arrangements of anything, but now the place was noticeably free of clutter and crap. He adjusted the only framed picture in the room to straightness and smiled in satisfaction. He'd almost forgotten he even had that picture, much less how crooked it had been all this time. _Sometimes __you __have __to __clean __everything __out __to__ notice __the __smallest __imperfections_. The afterthought came; _I __think __Johnny__'__s __crooked __logic'__s __contagious. _It was logic, but he hadn't ever considered himself a very logical person.

He heard movement, and he could hear his heart rate increasing. He straightened his _Misfits_ jacket and ran his hands through his hair, only to remember he didn't have much. He made a mental note to never make a bet with Funnyman again. Preparations aside, his mind retorted, _what __a __disgrace, __she__'__s __just __a __girl_. His heart sank when he heard a rough knock on his door. George's voice came through.

"Jorel, open the fuck up." He swung the door open, scowling. "What?" Perhaps concerned with Jorel's abrupt and pissy attitude, George cleared his throat in discomfort and replied much more mildly, "Um, nothing's come in the mail for me, has it?" His insides smiled evilly. The vaguely labeled box had arrived just this morning. "No. Why?" The immediate look of panic on Johnny's face was too satisfying. "Oh, nothing." He then became concentrated on his shoes, the scowl on his face translating into deep contemplation. Jorel was also concentrated, on not breaking out into laughter. He was so concentrated, in fact, that he didn't hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Aurra paused at his doorway just as George murmured absentmindedly, "Um, if you guys need me, I'll be in Oregon… for a few days, maybe a week." It took all his self-control to keep from breaking out into laughter, but Aurra must have seen some look of crazed enjoyment on his face because of the questioning look he received. He didn't reply, couldn't, not in front of Ole Georgie. He let loose a smile as J3T turned and left. Aurra entered and closed the door gently behind her.

"What was that about?" He chuckled. "Just some normal Hollywood stuff." She smiled, in apparent understanding. "What _kind_ of drugs?" He chuckled, almost in disbelief. "That's what constitutes as 'Hollywood stuff?'" "Well, I doubt George is stripping to get his next dollar." He smirked. "You'd be surprised. He does some crazy-ass shit." She laughed. "Don't we all?" "Do you?" She chucked herself onto the couch and replied, "Depends on what you constitute as 'crazy-ass shit.'" He seated himself on the seat cushion next to her, sporting a devious smile. "That's quite a list." She gave him a toothless smile. "New York was a big place; as exciting as L.A., I daresay." He smiled as he leaned in closer. "But this is _Hollywood_." She scoffed. "Big name, so what? It's just another town." He sat upright again. "_**Oh**_ you're gunna regret that." She chuckled under her breath. "Forget what?" He grabbed his keys from the coffee table and gestured toward the door.

"Come on. I'll show you."

It was near midday, but, for Hollywood, the minority of the city was just awakening. The real action happened after the sun set. Jorel's car was a convertible, some old car from the 80's. She told him she had never been particularly adept with cars; New York ran on taxis. But the people of Los Angeles were different. Taxis were plentiful, but people still drove around in cars. L.A. people were focused on glamour. There was an unnamable satisfaction with going about your daily business with bright, shiny convertibles. Of course, the majority of L.A. couldn't afford such luxury, but they dreamed of it all the same. Jorel's was old, but had gathered enough of his attention to merit a shiny coat and decently intact leather seats.

"So, what are you showing me first: tourist attractions or celebrities' houses? Seriously, Jorel, I don't thi-" "We're here." She blinked in confusion. "What?" He had parked them on one of the numerous run-down streets in Los Angeles. Buildings on both sides of the cracked road were boarded up. "Where's… _here_?" He pushed open the driver-side door and strode around to the curb. She did the same. "Chow's" He stopped her before she could ask more questions by gesturing toward the alleyway. "C'mon." She followed, unaffected by the dark alley.

***Ayanna's POV***

The patterned basketball left her fingertips, made its trip around the hoop, and sunk in. She smiled with accomplishment, but immediately regretted blowing up the ball substantially before playing because the basketball net had long since disappeared. Untethered, it bounced over a crumbling brick wall and, apparently, onto someone's skull.

"What the fuck?"

George's head appeared.

"Whoops…" Ayanna hurried over to retrieve the tattered, dirt-caked ball.

"Really, Yanni?" She smiled over her shoulder as she bent over the pick it up. "I don't _try_ to hurt you, it just happens." She dropped the ball as he grabbed her waist and held her in front of him. His eyes never left hers. "Promise?" She chuckled.

"Promise."

Their lips brushed as she heard someone approaching, but she was determined to not be interrupted. She heard the newcomer clear his throat. She opened her eyes to see Matthew. Her ex. George was the first to attack.

"Hey there, Matty. Have you met Yanni?" Matt's looks were uncomfortable… and satisfying. "Briefly." She smirked. So now six months was brief. Shocker. Still, she decided to play his game.

She smiled pleasantly, "Nice to see you again, Matthew." His responding expression made her smile widen. He cleared his throat again. "Likewise." The following silence was filled with provocative stares and frustrated faces between Ayanna and Matt.

"Well, I'd hate to interrupt." He gave in. George's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, wouldn't that be _awful_." With a final look of contempt directed over his shoulder, Matt strode away with hands in his pockets and hood over his wavy, black hair. She turned to J3T.

"Kurlzz – 0; Us…" she smirked victoriously, "one!"

He swung her around and kissed her again her hair curtaining them from the harsh reality of Los Angeles. This was not the place of glamour and glory; it was only such in people's imaginings. And, in moments like these, where the magic of 'love' maintained the plastic magic fairly well. But, the moment her feet touched the ground, the pixie dust vanished.

_Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. Ha. Pursuing something doesn't mean you'll find it. Well played, Founding Fathers._

** I had thought I was 'happy' with Matt, way back when. I had also thought it was love. Maybe I _was_ happy. Maybe he _did_ love ****me. Yeah, George is going to promise that he loves me. I might even believe him. But the sad truth that we all need to learn is that the best things in life never last.**

***Aron's POV***

Jordon stumbled out into the alley, George and Aron in tow.

"I dun'no what the fuck you're talking about, _I__'__m__Marcus__Trann_!" The door slammed shut, and he could hear the lock bolt inside. He could hear George's drunken slur beside him. Or… was it beneath him? "Great job. Nex' time, Let's us try'n pick-a-guy who is'n fuckin' dead!" Charlie stood and braced himself against the brick wall. "Well, _you_ pick the tab next time." He felt something… er… _someone_… move beneath him.

"What the-?" He was shoved to the cold concrete. "Ow? Fuggit, George." "Your own fuckin' fault fer layin' on me." He threw a blind punch in George's direction. He connected with what felt like ribs. Something stung on the side of his face. Suspicions concluded that George had slapped him; the bitch. Aron brought himself to his feet and wobbly stood opposite of Charlie.

"Well? We goin' somewhere else?"

"What's the point?"

"Really? You aren't up to it?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"You're always up to it."

"Well, I'm not."

"Why not?"

"Lay off, Aron."

"No."

George's drunken, hoarse yell from the other side of the dark alley halted their argument. "Would you hoes quit for a second?" They looked over at him, drunken stupors not allowing them many other thinking alternatives. "Just quit the bitching, okay? I'm sick of it." Deuce's laugh was short and comeback was mediocre, so a square punch from Charlie to the shoulder was pretty much required. "WOULD EVERYONE STOP HITTING ME?" Looks and fingers from Charlie, Johnny, and a few passing civilians said quite obviously, "Once you stop deserving it." Aron crossed his arms, sulking.

"Well… Anyway, Lance said he was havin' some peop'l over. We shud drop in fer a visit." George's tone was convincing, albeit slurred. "We all know you just go for the alcohol, Johnny," said Charlie in a surprisingly slur-less manner. "And we all know you would rather call Maye up." At the mention of 'Maye', Charlie launched himself at Johnny and forced his head to the concrete. Aron's face was shocked, the morphed into anger.

"Maye? MAYE?" Under his breath, Charlie muttered, "Fuck…" Johnny mumbled something undistinguishable from underneath Charlie's foot.

Aron pushed off from the stable wall and into the unstable air, teetering slightly with no solid surface to guide him. He grasped Charlie around the neck. "You're _fucking_ my _sister_?"


	5. Chapter 5 Wishful Thinking

*****NAMES: Funnyman/Funny-Dylan; J-Dog/J-Jorel; CharlieScene/Charles-Jordon; Deuce/Producer-Aron; Johnny3Tears/J3T-George/Johnathan/Georgie; DaKurlzz/Kurlzz-Matthew/Matt/Matty{I'll be using them throughout so watchout}**

*****Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HOLLYWOODUNDEAD, OR ANY PAST OR PRESENT MEMBERS. MEMBERS' PERSONALITIES ARE BASED ON IMPRESSIONS. ALL LOCATIONS MENTIONED IN THE FORTH COMING STORY ARE WERE CREATED IN THE MIND OF THE CREATOR; ME.**

*****Author Notes: Enjoy! Also, _please, review_! It's kinda important to know how I'm doin'.**

Aron tapped the butt of the cigarette on the sidewalk curb, watching the ashes dim into oblivion. The sounded of scraping skateboarding-dogs' wheels on the concrete was deafening. It was late. How late, exactly, nobody would be able to tell him. Not that anybody cared. When the sun went down, they went up. Time was irrelevant. So long as the sun couldn't see them, neither could their troubles. Something about the word 'gilded' occurred to him, but the full thought didn't materialize. Jorel's familiar shoes passed somewhere in his peripheral vision, over where the other douchies were showing off their footwork. He was staring at the ground; at nothing. The protection the night brought to his kind was neither real nor long-lasting. He had good 'ole Hollywood to thank for that. He wrenched his eyes from the pavement and stared vacantly at the cocky wood-riders. The majority of them sprouted smiles like any other night.

The night was to his crowd what the day was to everyone else. But, then again, Hollywood was such a place of plastic.

Hardly preoccupied by his thoughts, Jorel's straightforward approach to friendship was, needless to say, expected. Leaning forward on his propped-up board and bending closer to speak over the racket, he said, "Why is it you're here again?" His expression was unamused. "Thanks, man." Jorel's remained indifferent. "No, I mean, I just don't know. Nothing better to do?" He sighed. "Nothing I'd rather do, sadly." Jorel produced a grimace. "Still pissed at Jordon?" His grimace was mirrored. "Wouldn't you be?" Jorel's response was a jab at comical. "Hah. My sister isn't good enough for Jordon." At the mention of Jorel's sister, Aron glanced hopefully around Jorel. "She here?" "Nah. Said her friend was coming, though." He sat on the curb next to Aron, laying the skateboard on his knees and taking a swig of the beer Aron had started. As if on cue, a towering, blue-eyed skateboarder halted in front of them, her wavy blonde hair framing her face. "Yeah, Marcy told me to tell you that you're a douche-bag with a bad haircut." This brought out a chuckle and a wry smile. "She always had a way with words." Marcy was how he had met Jorel, so far back that he hardly remembered. Their coupled relationship was short-lived, but they had still retained a friendship. As far as he knew, Jorel's family was awesome.

Yeah, Jorel was okay.

"So, I'm guessing you're Marcy's friend I've heard so much about." Her expression was odd, indecipherable. "I prefer Rory." The name made his heart skip.

_Fuck. My heart fucking hates me..._

With not a trace of his regression, Aron's taped a charming, toothy smile to his face and some glittery eyes. "Aron." Rory's reaction sent him stumbling.

"'Kay. Talk later." And she glided away.

_Wait... what? She just... I had even... WHAT?_

Rory's immunity was unheard of, unthinkable, but undeniable. His mouth hung open and his eyes were blinking, his face scowled in confusion. Jorel's smile was caught in his peripherals, and met by a swift punch to the gut which was then blocked by an outstretched arm. "Hey, don't blame me. You're the one at fault here." His neck snapped in J-Dog's direction, eyes screaming murder and punishment. Jorel's eyes were entirely amused. This dude pushed his buttons. "Go glide away with your douchies." Jorel's eyes remained amused, but, being cowardly enough to obey, he stood and threw the wooden board to the concrete, sailing away like a perverted sailor. He really hated these people sometimes. Well, except Marcy. He never had the balls to hate her. And, recently, Rory. But, he had that horrible feeling that nothing good could come from it. Not that it stopped him with Marcy, or Jacelyn, Lyn, Audrie, Bella, or... or... Ok, he had a long list. But so did Jorel, Jordon, and George. Dylan had a fair number, but none lasted, really. Matty really hadn't had a serious relationship in a while, not since George's current girl whom he couldn't remember the name of if his life depended on it. Point was, this Rory chick was like the rest of the skate dogs; stubborn, rough, and unable to be denied. She denied him, though. Either she didn't know anything about him, or knew too much. Either way, prospects weren't as bright as he wanted them to be. But he wasn't a one-shot kind of guy. He was persistant, if nothing else.

Carefully sidestepping careless riders or newbies altogether, he wove through the battle grounds of the urban night life. Rory stood topside on the old factory's easily-accessible rooftop, keeping balance on her board's back two wheels. He called up to her, "Hey! Rory!" She turned her face toward him. "Yah." "Wut 'chu doin'?" She chuckled. "Oh, y'know, the 'youj'." He smiled, but he doubt she could see it in the dark. "What about tommorow night?" The faint trace he could detect of her smile faded. "Anyone but you."

_Yup. She knows too much._

The harvest moon cast long, dark shadows as it hung low to the ground. The effect it created was eerie; ominous, but what scared her the most was that she could see no stars in the sky tonight. There was nothing up there, nothing at all. The fact that a moon that signified so much evil was the only thing she could see in the night sky frightened her. On any normal night, the stars were always there. They were dependable. She did not think she would miss them if they were gone. But, having only the moon to occupy the sky made the world seem a much smaller and, somehow, lonelier place. Her only consolation was Jorel's warm presence beside her, the back of his arm bracing her back. The height of the hill and closeness of the moon made her feel small in comparison. But, with Jorel beside her, she did not feel insignificant. She didn't know the extent of her feelings toward him. It felt like they'd known each other their whole lives and that he understood the very core of her being. Of course, he did not. She hadn't quite convinced herself that she knew what she was. And yet still, the last thing she wanted to do was deny herself what her life had been lacking when the opportunity arose.

She recalled the evening they had had together, shared unbelievably only hours ago. Jorel had brought her into his favorite bar: Chow's. She learned quite quickly that appearances were misleading; the burgers were excellent. She did have doubts as to the state of their sanitation grade. All Jorel said on the subject was that, 'good food didn't need no sanitation,' which only increased her worries. He had also introduced her to the waitress there, Maye, who also happened to be Aron's younger sister. Their personality similarities were striking, and they were both quite skeletal for human beings. Jorel had also taken her to a profoundly worn parking garage, graffiti tattooing the building almost completely. On the top level, written in large black letters, were the words 'Hollywood Undead.' They had stared down at the landscape below, watching various nomadic idiots wander through the streets at near 1:00 A.M.. Their final stop was the strange hilltop on which she now sat just outside of near all civilization, saving a few maddened spiritual monsters.

She faintly heard and felt the slow rise and fall of Jorel's chest, but didn't dare look over at his moon-lit face. She feared any movement would disrupt this delicate balance he had created. He was holding back, and she couldn't understand why. Did she do something wrong? Say something she shouldn't have? After so many years of trial and error, you'd think a person would have the relationship crap down pact. But every person was different, so every relationship was like starting all over again. She liked to think that she'd know when the right person found her, but her heart had been silent. Instinct was the only thing driving her now. So, with Jorel close and distant at the same time, she felt like they had become some metal structure; a hard foundation with no pulse. Neither of them knew what to do next. She could almost feel his emotional loss, partially because she felt it, too. It wasn't that they weren't meant for each other, it's that neither of them wanted to be screwups... again. Eventually, the both of them resigned to doing nothing. Nothing at all. They just sat there, staring at the lone moon. Then, almost magically, the lost moment suddenly became something.

With both of their eyes still locked on the sky, Arra murmured, "What are we doing?" Jorel turned to her, arm still propping up her back; his eyes' sparkle not yet lost in the dark. He shook his head, "I don't know." They both sat still, a shadow tableau atop of hill. Simultaneously, they began to lean toward each other. This time was different for her. Despite the innumerable amount of times she had leaned in, expecting the following kiss to blow her away, she felt as if this lean was the first. As she closed her eyes, feeling naught but air around her lips, she began to doubt everything she had previously thought unquestionable. For a brief moment, she believed that what they had, what Jorel had to offer, was a mistake.

All problems, shortcomings, and doubts fled with the brush of Jorel's lips on her own. She felt his hands reach up and wrap itself in her hair just as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The short gaps when their lips disengaged grew shorter as a smile crept across both of their faces. For a short moment, she distanced her face from his saying, "We're idiots." A crooked smile covered his face. "There was never any doubt." Leaning over her, he resumed where they had left off, their bodies wrapped around each other in a way that could only have been habitual.


	6. Chapter 6 Peace

Johnny stared down the long, barren sidewalk. Houses on both sides were worn and dormant. He sat with his elbows resting on his propped legs, arms crossed in the gap between them. A single cigarette stub was wedged between his index and middle finger as he set it between his lips. He absentmindedly flicked the flared end into the dry grass as he watched the final wring of smoke disappear into the atmosphere. His jeans failed to cover his ass, but he felt the cold concrete through he boxers with a relevant numbness. He reached into his pocket for another and felt the empty box crush between his fingers. He pulled out the box and stared at it emptily. The box left his fingers as forehead met his folded knees. He exhaled deeply, his warm breath producing a smog in the early-morning cool. He sat there for the next few seconds before retreating back inside, to Charlie's couch. He saw the dent in the fabric before collapsing onto it. He didn't feel the sting of the arm rest as it hit his skull. He turned his back to the dilapidated coffee table and set to breathing in the dust and definitive weed-smelling stench of the couch cushions. It seemed like seconds after he collapsed had Charlie reentered the dwelling.

"You know, she really doesn't know what she's in for."

"Mhm," was all he could stand to conjure.

"She'll realize how much of a jackass Jorel is in a month, maybe less. Then she'll see how right I was."

"Mhm."

"What does she see in him anyway? I mean, he plays guitar, but so fucking what? Half of Hollywood play guitar, and half of _them_ are better than _Jorel_."

"Mhm."

Charlie paused in his rant. Johnny half wished he was going to ask him what was wrong, but he squashed that guileless thought as soon as it occurred to him. "You don't think its my fault do you? D'ya think I pushed her to it? Maybe I should have been a little more trusting, but hell if he deserves it. D'you think it's my fault?"

At his silence, Charlie continued, "Nah, nah, it couldn'ta... Must be the new setting or something."

"Mm."

Johnny heard the cling of keys onto the counter. "She come out yet?" Johnny sighed. He was actually requiring him to give an answer. He sat up, grasping his head and facing away from Charlie so he couldn't see the awful state of his eyes. "Don't think she came in." "WHAT?" "Didn't hear her come in last night." "B-but you are impossible to wake up. You... you wouldn'ta heard." Johnny sighed painfully. "I was up." He heard Charlie's ferocious footsteps up the hallway and heard the bang of the door against the wall. By the sound of it, he just added to the gaping dent already worn into the wall, but Charlie was beyond caring. He stormed back into the room as Johnny stooped to rest his head on the palms of his hands. He smelt something on his skin. It smelt like cocaine. No, no it wasn't cocaine...

"That motherfucking son of a bitch..." Charlie continued murmuring all the way out the door, "-get his faggot ass if it's the last thing I-" The door slammed shut. Johnny dropped his head back onto the wooden arm rest. He curled into a tight ball, with his back facing the dilapidated coffee table. He then set to breathing in dust and the definitive weed-smelling stench of the couch cushions. Was it the weed or the familiarity that was comforting?

He sighed deeply. "Finally. Peace."


End file.
